


Imagine If...

by CSavageWrites



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-15
Updated: 2019-05-19
Packaged: 2020-01-14 15:41:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18479275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CSavageWrites/pseuds/CSavageWrites
Summary: A compilation of one shots and imagines.





	1. Loki In Wakanda

Well. It was one thing to hear that his brother had gotten into such a predicament. It was another entirely to see it with his own eyes. And what a sight it was. 

His large ass was sticking out of the wall, head poking out through the other side, exposed to the elements. Thor had decided, upon his arrival to Wakanda, that no metal – no matter how superior - could contain him, and so had decided to prove it by flying through a wall. Only, he had underestimated its strength, and had wound up stuck inside, like a deer’s head on a wall, although the ass isn’t usually the part being displayed. 

Either way, it made for a most amusing sight, and would give him plenty of blackmail material for years to come, if the pleading look on his brothers face as he had entered the building was anything to go by.

It’s good to be the smart sibling.


	2. Why Loki Resents Thor

Loki had never been the most forthcoming of people, most especially when something was wrong. 

Most didn’t notice, certainly not any of the warriors, although even if they did they were unlikely to care. They were too wrapped up in telling their adoring audience of their battles, conveniently leaving out Loki’s part, again. 

Being on this mission, was hard. It brought up painful memories of the last time Mother had taken him to watch a play, something about star crossed lovers, although the notion seemed quite ridiculous, it was rather good.

Midgard’s standards of entertainment seemed to far surpass Asgard’s own, although he would never admit it aloud. It had been a long time since they had spent any time together, just the two of them. And now she was gone, and there was a rather hole in his life from her absence. 

Midgard was their place. Somewhere that held a higher form of appreciation for the arts than Asgard ever would. But Thor didn’t like that he and mother were spending time together away from Asgard, preferring a finer taste in entertainment over boasting stories and mock battles. 

As always, Thor found a way to ruin it. He made sure to distract mother with a injury or a request that only she could do, ensuring they couldn’t go on their visits as planned. Eventually, they just stopped trying to leave. 

The only times he left Asgard after that were when the warriors would go out to battle, and Thor would insist on dragging him along. Whilst she would teach him magic, it was no longer as often as it used to be, she was too busy for that, as she had to train the new healers and keep an eye on the ward.

She used to sit him on her lap, weaving stories of her old home, a fond look in her eye. That too, stopped soon enough, when Odin decreed him too old for bedtime stories. After that, the time he and mother could spend together lessened more and more, finally ending on mealtimes and the occasional lesson, but even then, they were no longer alone. 

The warriors were talking nonsense, bragging about killing a beast with ease, when in fact it was the one time they had actually asked for his help in bringing down a kill. They were usually too prideful for that. Although it seemed they still were, if his absence from the story was anything to go by. 

He would usually interrupt, and assert his place, ensuring that his role was actually noticed, since they felt free to dismiss it. But he just couldn’t summon the will to speak, too flooded by memories and resentment. And so, saddened and dejected, he walked away.


	3. A World Without The Boy Who Lived

"Avada Kedavra."

Well that was...anticlimactic. The baby slumped over, glassy green eyes staring straight into Voldemort's crimson. He felt rather insulted, to be honest. If this was all it would have taken to defeat him, how little did the fates see in him? Of course, there was the other boy, but he was sure it would be the Potter. His judgement hadn't failed him before, though his haste to overlook the pureblood to one more similar to him was telling. 

He didn't even believe his own ideals. Couldn't, really, when he himself was living proof that their ideals were incorrect. But he needed followers, so he pandered to the masses, hiding his true blood heritage and assuring them that they were right. Pathetic. 

He took his leave, pausing to step over a toy that was left on the floor. The whole night was cleared of any commitments, with a prophecy hanging over his head he knew he had to act. He would not lose everything he had worked so long for. If he wanted to change the Wizarding World he had to make them want to change, to beg for it. They were too stubborn for anything else. 

They despised those who were different, even the most accepting would still turn their nose at the thought of a magical creature joining Hogwarts, preferring they be kept amongst themselves. Even the muggleborns agreed, no matter that they faced the same discrimination from the blood purists. 

The Longbottom's house was up ahead, and so were the Aurors. It seems as though the Lestrange's had gotten a little hasty, though it was more than likely just Bellatrix. Either way, he had to leave before they caught sight of him, let them take the blame for the mess they caused. Baby murderer was not a reputation that he wanted to gain, he would never be taken seriously by any potential alliances ever again. 

Apparating to his manor, Voldemort could smell burning. And singed flesh. They deserved it, he just hoped they'd remembered to kill the child. They needed to spread fear, turn the magical world against Dumbledore's pacifistic ideals and towards a heavy hitter. It was the only way he'd manage to get something done. 

He could have done it the easy way, worked his way up the ministry ladder and taken the position peacefully, it would have been far easier to get a hold of the founders items that way too. Pity Dumbledore had to meddle in his life, though it was only hurting the man himself anyway. He should know better than to meddle in the affairs of others by now.   
In all of his years of being headmaster, there had been one magical creature, a werewolf, whose presence he had concealed. Even he treated creatures like they were a shameful secret of society, hiding their presence from the 'respectable' people. They had so much potential, so much untapped power, they could do so much. 

Much like him, society saw fit to shun them until they proved useful. His own housemates hated him until he proved how powerful he was, then they would trip over himself to serve his every whim. Too little, too late. The muggleborns could tell he was poor, his accent certainly hadn't helped, cockney wasn't respectable, it seemed. For those who overlooked his financial state, there was a sense of pity over his orphaned state. No matter where he turned, thee was something about him that could be looked down on. 

When the war was over, everything would change. 

No one needed the boy who lived, so he died instead. 

Only Fate knew why Voldemort needed to hear the Prophecy.


End file.
